The Start of Something New
by isometimesdreamincartoon
Summary: A brief glimpse into Nikita's life in Division before she went rogue and the man she came to love. mikita one shot


The shimmering red fabric fell in undulating swaths down Nikita's slender body. She stared down, in awe for a moment at the delicate flounces and the gorgeous fabric. Disbelieving, she saw her reflection in the mirror, a beautiful woman stood, like a vision of beauty, clothed in scarlet before her. She twisted, unable to resist that girlish urge as she marveled silently over how the dress fit her just right, framing her delicate body perfectly. Her ragged black hair still streamed down her shoulders undone, but it seemed to make her look even more unearthly beautiful than any pretentious hair do could. Amanda cocked her head in surprise; even she had not expected the dress to fit so well.

"Wow, Nikita, you truly are beautiful. I feel like makeup and doing your hair would only ruin this picture. You are lucky to possess such natural beauty."

Despite herself, Nikita couldn't help a blush of pleasure at the compliment. For a moment, just a tiny millisecond, she let herself slip into that wonderful fantasy land of glamorous gowns, smooth-talking men, shiny guns, and bright adventure that Amanda had painted for her the first day she arrived in the dark, concrete bunker. It didn't last long, the claustrophobic concrete walls, the black-clad cards outside the door, wielding heavy machine guns, and the bare cell that awaited her reminded her that the fantasy wasn't real. She was a prisoner, forced to kill instead of being killed. She wasn't sure which one was better. Even Amanda, the beautiful, empowering Amanda wasn't real. She had heard the dark, desperate whispers, whispers of what Amanda had done, her real job at division, and as Nikita watched the steel cold woman through the mirror, she realized she never wanted to see that side of her. To the eye, Division was clean, sterile, minimalistic, and though not particularly inviting, it wasn't repulsive or bad altogether. However, Nikita knew this was only a mask; you could feel the darkness hidden behind interrogation cell doors, behind the black impenetrable doors of Percy's door, you could feel it almost emanating out of the seems in the concrete, a kind of evil that hid behind beautiful masks, like the one Amanda wore. Like an animal, Nikita knew almost instinctively to stay away from it, to leave the mask on because what lay under it was too terrible to imagine. Nikita had the feeling that if she even stirred the water a little bit, the darkness would come for her. _That's exactly what I've got not to do_, she said to herself. _Just_ _take care of yourself. Survive. _

There was a stir of movement outside, and Nikita turned toward the door. She twisted and saw Michael come in. When he caught sight of her, his lips parted inadvertently. For a brief second he looked floored, almost like someone had punched him in the gut but it felt good. He composed his face quickly before Amanda turned, swallowing his emotion down hard. He focused himself on Amanda, trying to block out the distraction of Nikita who was about as hard to ignore as the sun being suddenly pulled in from outer space and plopped beside him. It was hard to think when she was in the room; there was a slight buzzing in his head, and she set on him on edge and gave him what he knew, from the times with his wife, as butterflies. Michael started talking to Amanda, but his thoughts started to wander like a horse set free in springtime. He saw many beautiful women in division everyday, the recruits and field operatives, fit and curvaceous in one of Amanda's dresses, alluring enough to seduce a drug lord or prince. He was almost desensitized to their contrived, banal beauty, the kind you saw on magazine covers and clothing catalogues the world over. But something was different about Nikita; there was something illusively beautiful about her that made her stand out from the others like a masterpiece among the scribbles of a three-year-old. She was wildly, fiercely, angrily beautiful.

Nikita listened to Michael and Amanda's talk, trying to calm her scattered, shivering nerves. She hated that she never seemed to get over this nervousness before missions; it made her sick inside. She knew what to do, how do it, and that she could do it. It was the deed itself that she abhorred. Could she really bring herself to do it? What kind of person would she be if she did do it? Would Division cancel her for not doing it? What would happen to herself and the people she was going to harm? She was horribly, horribly trapped. She looked at Michael, not hearing what he said anymore, just looking. She opened her mouth and then shut it quickly in alarm. Then one final shivering question came hollowing clanging through the dark dungeon of her mind.

_Would Michael still love her if she did this?_

He had turned to her then, saying something to her, but she was lost in the frightening silence of a sudden realization. They were in love. That thought of romance between him and her had never crossed her mind before. She didn't even know that he loved her, but from somewhere deep inside her the truth of it had hit like a train. It was subconscious, instinctive, deep knowledge. Even now, as he fixed his eyes on her, concerned because she wasn't answering his question, his pulse so obviously pounding to her she was amazed Amanda didn't say anything. He was the only one here wholly without the darkness. She couldn't understand how, for he had been here awhile, but there was no sinister side of him lurking under the surface, or in a crack in his mind somewhere. He was pure and whole like a straight pillar of pure white marble standing before her. Michael was there for her, and the others and nothing else. He did not associate with the darkness. This is why she loved him, and because of the way he would come to her in the off hours as she slugged through a training manual or computer program or trained. He would massage her shoulders, she relaxing into the intimate, forbidden touch, the affectionate care that she had missed her whole life. It had never seemed out of place to them; it was natural. It had never registered before with her that he never did that to any of the other recruits. Amanda had left the room to go get something and Michael was now at her side.

"Nikita, what's wrong you look shaken up?" She didn't say anything, just looked up into his face with glistening, tearing eyes, communicating silently but unmistakably what she wanted. His face softened into something almost like a terrible sadness; his hands shook with the struggle within him.

"Nikita," he whispered, broken, roughly, "Nikita, you know I can't. Believe me, I-" he stopped, staring at her with longing. A new, strange brokenness came into his eyes, and he turned away. He walked toward the door, "Good luck, Nikita," he managed to spit out, his voice too full to go on. He bit his lip hard, wrenched open the door and stepped out into the hallway letting it close behind him. "I love you." He whispered to her so softly only he could hear.


End file.
